by Wahida Clark
Shan had never had sex in such a public place, and knowing someone was probably watching her get dicked down excited her. She wrapped her legs around Briggen’s waist and used the leverage to bounce and meet his every thrust.
“Shan missed her big daddy!” she moaned.
“Daddy’s home, baby. Take it for daddy!”
“I am. Ohhh, I am! It’s still your pussy,” she screamed, speaking from the heart and not from the moment.
The intercom came alive. “Hello? Is everything okay?”
Neither responded. All they could hear was the sound of a hard dick mashing a soaking, wet pussy as Shan’s sweet sex song filled the elevator.
“Uhhh . . . just wanted you to know . . . that uhh, we can see you.”
Briggen gripped her ass and dug up in her guts like he had been gone years instead of months, pounding his rhythm into her softest place. Shan couldn’t stop coming. The elevator started moving and the sudden lurch only added to the intensity, making Shan cry out as she began to come along with Briggen.
By the time they got to the fifteenth floor, maintenance and the hotel manager were waiting, but Shan and Briggen’s clothes were back in place as if nothing had happened.
Looking in their eyes and at their suppressed smirks, Briggen and Shan knew they were busted.
“Musta got stuck,” Briggen remarked as they walked by.
“Yeah, I’m sure somethin’ got stuck,” the hotel manager replied.
Briggen and Shan burst out laughing as they disappeared into her room. But as soon as the door shut, he went to beating Shan’s ass.
• • •
Shan struggled to crawl to the door, reach up, and unlock it. She didn’t have anyone else to call since Courtney and Michelle were back in Jersey. She was grateful that Keeta took her call and said she would come see about her. But not before cussing her out some more. Keeta burst in, almost tripping over her body.
“What the fuck happened?” A pregnant Keeta looked down at a bruised up Shan in bewilderment. “I don’t know if I need to call the police or an ambulance!” Keeta pulled out her cell phone.
“No! Keeta, no! I called you over here to pop my shoulder back in its socket. But first you gotta help me out. I don’t need no damn ambulance.”
“Shan, who did this?” She bent down and gently grabbed Shan’s good shoulder.
“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” Shan kept repeating as she gingerly stood up and they slowly walked over to the chair where she sat. “Oh my God! My whole body hurts. My shoulder. Be careful, Keeta. Go ahead. Pop it back in place. I remember you did Briggen’s when he got in that fight and afterward, he was good as new. And yes, it was him.”
“Briggen did this, Shan?”
“Go get me a washcloth and wet it. Hurry up!”
Keeta rushed to the bathroom and came back with the damp washcloth. “This is fucked up,” she spat. “I understand that he’s mad at you, but damn. Hell, I’m mad at you too. I started to hang up on your ass.”
“Girl, thank you. I appreciate this.”
Keeta watched as Shan put the damp cloth in her mouth, bit down on it, and squeezed her eyes shut. Keeta took a deep breath and felt her way around Shan’s shoulder. Finally feeling the right spot, she popped it, and then snapped it into place. She stood back as Shan screamed, biting down on the cloth, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked as if all the color drained from her face.
“You need to go to a hospital! Look at you. Two black eyes, your mouth is all busted up, and I ain’t even a doctor. You need to get your shoulder looked at by a professional. I just gave you a temporary fix.”
“Keeta, please.” Shan slowly stood up. “Just let me lie down. The only thing I need you to do is get me some pain pills. Believe me, I’ma get this nigga back.” Shan lay down on the bed and let out a long moan. “Keeta, hand me my phone and go find me some pain killers.”
“Girl, you in a hotel. The most you’ll find is some Tylenol. I got some weed in my bag. You want that?”
“I need both. Go find me some pain pills first. Ask a white person if you have to. They always have prescription pain killers. And get me a lot of it. Grab the key card by the lamp. I don’t think I can get back up.”
“I got it.”
As soon as Keeta left, Shan dialed Nick. He picked up on the first ring, frantic.
“Shan, I’ve been blowing your phone up! You were supposed to call me as soon as the meeting was over. All types of shit is running through my mind. What happened? Why you ain’t call me as soon as it was over?”
“What happened? What didn’t happen? I have a migraine, Nick. I had to lie down.”
“Shan, migraine or bullet, you still could have answered the damn phone. Don’t do this shit no more. If you can’t do something as simple as call in after a meeting, then I’ma have to take you off of this.”
“Damn, Nick, you going a little bit overboard, don’t you think? I handled the business. So what I didn’t call you immediately? Shit got a little crazy. Right after I gave them your message some chick comes in and she turned it all the way up.”
“Some chick?”
“Yes. Born’s cousin or aunt. That’s all I know about her. But she got some beef with some dude named Wise. I’ll have to tell you the rest when I see you. I know you don’t want me talking over this phone. And then, Briggen was there. He said that he was going to get at you for having me out here like this on some street shit.”
“Briggen?”
“Yes. Briggen, Nick. I didn’t even know he was home. So, you see why my head is hurting. I just needed to lie down. I’ll fill you in when I see you. I just took some more Tylenol. I’ll call you later.” She hung up before he could ask her anything else. Her mouth hurt even more from trying to talk as if her lips were not busted up. Now she had to figure out how she would duck him out so he wouldn’t see the bruises and black eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
Baby Boy sat back in his La-Z-Boy recliner, big Willie Dick style, feeling his own come up. He knew he deserved it. Not only had he gotten him and Quita out of the projects, he had taken her brother and sister, Quandra and Ty-Ty, with them. The apartment was laced with all the toys a bunch of kids could want, because in reality, that’s who they were. Ghetto kids that had never had a childhood but yet had never grown up. Stuck in a void unknowingly.
Ty-Ty was playing Madden on the 90-inch HD on the wall. The stereo system blared the sounds of Yo Gotti while Quita and Baby Boy blew fruit in multiple flavors.
Quandra walked into the living room. “I need some money to go shoppin’,” she announced like a spoiled little sister.
“Fuck outta here. Y’all just went shoppin’,” Baby Boy replied.
“I need some’m to wear to the American Idol tryouts. They comin’ to Detroit,” Quandra announced.
“Ohhh, for real?” Quita gasped. “Baby Boy, give her the money! Quandra can sing! She can!”
“So! If she that good, they ain’t gonna give a fuck what she wearin’,” he countered.
Quita sucked her teeth, grabbed the remote, and turned off Yo Gotti. “Show him, Quandra,” Quita said like the proud big sister.
Baby Boy’s first reaction was aggravation because Yo Gotti was his shit, but before he could open his mouth, Quandra opened hers.
His next reaction was almost . . . fear. Because something jumped out of Quandra that he didn’t know existed. She seemed to transform from this awkward, bird legged young girl with a thumb sucker’s overbite to a woman who had lived a thousand lives, and each one of them was filled with pain. She could project her voice like Beyoncé, but unlike Beyoncé, she had a soulfulness to her voice that would cause even the hardest thug to ball up and suck his thumb to sleep. Her voice made him believe there was a God.
When she finished, all he could say was, “How much you need?”
Satisfied, Quandra put her thumb back in her mouth and walked out of the room.
Baby Boy’s phone registered a text. All it said was:
The Twins
He was happy for the work, because the way Quita spent money, he’d have to kill half of Detroit just to keep up.
TWO WEEKS LATER . . .
“Okay. Enough about me getting my ass whipped.” Shan still had faint traces of her bruised and black eyes that Briggen gave her. “Trust me. The nigga is going to get his. I’ma hit him where it hurts. His ego, his pride, and his pockets. I even convinced Nick to fall back. So trust me, ladies, I got this. Know that every dog has its day. Now, what I want to ask y’all is, do you think if a woman has . . . multiple sex partners, that makes her a ho?” Shan asked the question as she, Courtney, and Michelle sat having a pedicure at the spa. They were clad only in thick, cloud like white bathrobes, hair wrapped in towels, and glasses of champagne in hand.
“Multiple as in the Knicks startin’ five?” Courtney cracked.
Shan laughed and blushed. “No! Like two . . . or three.”
“So let me see. I can only count one, Nick. Two, Briggen the ass whipper. And who is the third?” Michelle asked.
“My example is hypothetical,” Shan told them, but in her mind, she was picturing Edgard. His sexy sophistication and that accent! And she couldn’t lie, she was even feeling young ass Born—the way he ran The Consortium meeting. He seemed so . . . powerful.
Shan didn’t know what was happening to her. It was like, making this new money was the first step in really taking control of her own life. It awakened things in her she didn’t understand. So she brought it to Courtney and Michelle because their bond was growing stronger.
“Truthfully, I don’t think fuckin’ the Knicks makes you a ho, really,” Courtney expressed, taking a sip of champagne.
“I do!” Michelle interjected.
“Shut up, Michelle! You only a ho if the man is in control. So if he makin’ the booty call and you waitin’ up, you could be fuckin’ one nigga and be a ho! But if you makin’ the call, layin’ down law like—nigga, lock the door on the way out type shit. Nah, you just a boss bitch!”
They all laughed.
“I’m feelin’ that. I’m feelin’ that,” Michelle agreed. “ ’Cause if you fuckin’ this nigga because his game tight, then you just a ho to his reality.”
“But, it just doesn’t seem . . . right. I mean, y’all know my situation. Shit just got way complicated, especially with Briggen home. So it’s like . . . I’m torn.” Shan said, struggling to put her feelings into words.
Michelle sat up in her chair and did her best white girl impression. “Oh yeah, Oprah, I’m just such a good girl—but it’s not me. I’m torn! And for the life of me I don’t understand. He beat my ass and I’m still . . . torn.”
Courtney jumped right in and took on Oprah’s role. “Well, Mary Jane, that’s because you’re letting the men in your life do the pulling instead of you doing the pushing, bitch. Take control, ho! He beat your ass! You shouldn’t be torn about shit. You’re being dumb. You better get some payback on that ass!”
They all fell out laughing. Except for Shan.
“Y’all laughing too hard. And I don’t sound nothin’ like a white girl, y’all! Come on, now! And trust me. I have a plan.”
“You know what you need? You need to swing wit’ us tonight on one of our working nights,” Courtney emphasized.
“I ain’t tryin’ to catch no bodies!” Shan cracked, only half-joking.
“Long as a nigga don’t start nothin’,” Michelle chuckled. “On the real, though, we goin’ out tonight and show you how the brick do!”
• • •
Later that night, the three of them got dipped up, rented a stretch Phantom, and hit up Manhattan. They flirted from the Sky Lounge to the Copacabana, accepting no drinks but buying them for dudes, even dudes with females attached on their arms. They were on their boss diva shit, aggressive and taking the initiative. By the time midnight struck, they were toasted and feeling like the world was theirs.
They rode through the projects and saw a dude posted up, hugging the block.
“Oh, hol’ up! Stop! Stop! Stop!” Michelle called out to the driver.
The Phantom lurched to a stop as she put the window down. “Oh, you a cutie. What’s your name?” she called out.
Dude was on his thug shit. But he could easily be a model. He had the Tyson type pretty ruggedness with chinky eyes going on. He tried to play it smooth, though, squinting his eyes. “Yo, who that?”
“Yo’ future baby mama if you play your cards right! Come ’ere, daddy!” Michelle giggled.
He diddy bopped up to the Phantom and peeped in. When he saw three bad broads inside, he was all smiles, revealing a platinum grill.
“Okay, I see you,” he flirted. “What’s good wit’ y’all lovely ladies tonight?”
“You,” Courtney chimed in. “What up wit’ that fruit? We lookin’ for some!”
“Well, then, you came to the right place,” he remarked, pulling out and then holding up a half ounce of sour diesel.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. What up? You tryin’ to party wit’ us?” Courtney asked.
“No doubt,” he responded as Michelle opened the door.
As he climbed in, Courtney slapped him playfully on the ass. “Mmm, firm.”
Dude chuckled, but on the low, the way she did it made him uncomfortable. But he let it go. He sat between Courtney and Shan. The Phantom pulled off.
“What’s your name, cutie?” Courtney questioned, licking her lips seductively.
“Man, yo.”
“Man, huh? You sure you enough of one for three females?” Michelle teased.
He sat back, big dick style. “Like I said, Man,” he repeated, grabbing his thick print.
Michelle eyed the print greedily, and then replied, “We’ll see. But for now, roll that fruit!”
It took them a minute to convince Shan to hang out, but once they did, she was glad that they had. Man had rolled some fat ones and she inhaled deeply. She felt like she was floating and angels were singing in her ear. The sour had her head so relaxed she never wanted to come down.
They rented a room at a motel in Fort Lee, right off the George Washington Bridge in the cut. Shan sat in one of the little chairs by the window.
“Yo, you don’t talk much, huh, ma?” Man asked, eyeing Shan’s luscious thighs.
“She autistic,” Michelle joked.
Shan giggled. “Bitch, fuck you. I’m not autistic.”
“What’s autistic?” Man asked, looking confused.
Courtney patted him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, baby, at least you cute,” she mocked. That one went over his head too.
“So what up wit’ that thing, love? Let a sista see what you workin’ with,” Michelle urged him.
“Shit, you ain’t said nothin’,” he replied, standing up and starting to unbuckle his belt.
“Naw, naw, not like that . . . slow. Tease a bitch, yo. Dance,” Courtney purred, coloring her tone with seduction.
“Dance? Yo,’ I don’t dance.” He scowled as if she were questioning his gangsta.
“That shit is sooo sexy,” Michelle remarked. “It turns me on to see a nigga dance. What about you, Nikki?” Courtney asked, calling Shan by her alias for the night.
All Shan could say was, “Yeah.”
“I ain’t no dancer,” he said, but Michelle could see he was on the edge, so she pulled up her skirt, to reveal she was bald and pantiless.
“Mmmmm, dancin’ makes this pussy purr.”
Courtney added, “Mine too,” and jacked up her skirt.
The nigga started two-stepping.
“Slow,” Michelle ordered.
He began to do a slow striptease, taking off his clothes while the girls cheered him on. Courtney even threw ones at him. Shan was amazed at how quickly they had broken his gangsta down, turning him into a Chippendale wannabe.
Man even started getting into it, grinding his hips and making faces. He stood in front of them, buck naked, his rock-hard nine inches sticking st
raight out and bouncing to his gyrations.
“Now, take off your clothes,” Man demanded lustfully, ready to take charge.
“Easy, chief. We got this,” Michelle remarked, as she got up and gently pushed him on the bed.
She hiked up her skirt and straddled his face. His tongue went to work.
“Slow down, baby. This ain’t fast food. It’s gourmet,” Michelle half giggled, half groaned.
He gripped her ass, sliding his tongue in and out of her pussy.
Courtney lit up another blunt. “Hurry up, sis, I’m next!” She remarked.
“We gonna run a train on him?” Shan gasped, her awe mixed with erotic anticipation.
Courtney giggled. “Not on him, on his tongue. We do this all the time—pick a nigga up and trick him out. See how easy it is to flip the script? Turn the tables? Imagine if bad bitches ruled the world.” Courtney entertained the thought, blowing the sour smoke out and handing Shan the blunt.
Shan inhaled the words as well as the smoke while she watched Michelle ride Man’s tongue to a body quaking orgasm.
“How was it?” Courtney asked as they exchanged places.
Michelle shrugged. “I came.”
Courtney mounted his face and began working her hips to his tongue.
Shan passed Michelle the blunt.
“That dick do look good though,” Shan remarked, pussy getting wetter as the sour worked its way into her panties.
“Shit, do you. Remember, though, you only a ho if you ain’t in control.”
Shan got up and slid her panties off. She scrambled for a condom, ripped open the pack, grabbed his thick dick, wrapped it, and rushed to slide him into her pussy. She let out a belly shaking moan. “Fuck! I came already!” she spat.
“That’s that sour.” Michelle giggled, blowing the blunt.
Man tried to hold her by the hips, but Shan pushed his hands away, pinning them by his sides. She was in control. With Courtney sitting on his face, he was just a headless body. A fuck doll. A piece of dark meat. She bounced on his dick, being turned on even more by Courtney’s aggressive talk.
“Yeah, nigga, eat this pussy! Fuck, yeah, right there. I’ma come all in your mouth, fuck!”